


feeling our way through

by 8611



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Ghosts, Gore, Monster of the Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8611/pseuds/8611
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next night produces the same -- another couple, another pair of missing hearts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feeling our way through

**Author's Note:**

> My gift for [beabetterfae](http://beabetterfae.tumblr.com/)! I hope you enjoy, it was fun to write. :D
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely [darkmysteriouspissed](http://darkmysteriouspissed.tumblr.com/). <3

Lydia is the one who finds the bodies. 

She can control it now, and when she wakes up in the middle of the night, sucking in a deep breath and feeling smoke in her mind, she knows exactly what it is. 

She drives to the edge of town with her hands clamped on the steering wheel and her lips pressed together to keep from shaking, and she tumbles out of the car, all bare feet and messy hair. 

The house is old and boarded up, and the smudged inky color that climbs up the walls in the rooms around the kitchen speaks of a fire years before. 

“Hello?” she calls into the house, voice quiet. There’s no reply. 

She makes her way from window to window, using the slanting moonlight as a guide in the absence of a flashlight, and the smoke in her skull starts to crystallize as she drifts toward the back of the house. As she steps out the back door, the image in her head solidifies, and a split second before she sees them, she knows what she’ll find. 

It’s a young couple, sitting on the swing on the back porch. Their heads are tipped together in some morbid approximation of a loving gesture, but they’re slumped, their skin white and their blood in a dark pool under them. 

Lydia screams. 

\---

Derek isn’t particularly happy with them all tumbling into the loft before the sun has risen, but he’s not particularly surprised either. This is far from the first time it’s happened. 

“So, more bodies?” Derek asks, managing to sound both murderously annoyed and dead tired. “I heard you wailing.”

“Yeah,” Lydia says, her voice rough. “A girl and a boy, maybe a little bit older than us.”

“I recognized them,” Stiles says, darkly. He’d been the first one there to answer Lydia’s scream. “They were a couple of years ahead of us. I think they were in school out east.”

“Must be back for the summer,” Allison says, yawning and stretching. 

“What if it was just a garden variety murder?” Derek asks, sounding way too hopeful about that prospect. 

“Their hearts were ripped out,” Scott says, and Derek lets out a tight sigh, rubbing at his face. 

“It’s our kind of thing,” Stiles says. “Unfortunately.” 

\---

The next night produces the same -- another couple, another pair of missing hearts. 

“Ok, we need to figure this out now,” Lydia says right before she drags Stiles off in the direction of the library they’ve been accumulating in the previously unused den at Derek’s. 

“I’m guessing the sheriff knows?” Derek asks.

“Yeah, he does,” Scott says. “He’s trying to keep it quiet while we figure this one out.”

“This is bad,” Allison says, crossing her arms. “We’re not going to be able to hide it if bodies keep stacking up.”

“Great,” Derek mutters. 

“What if we baited the… whatever this heart stealing thing is?” Allison asks. Scott and Derek turn to stare at her, Scott looking worried and Derek irritated.

“That’d be putting people in harm’s way,” Scott says. “I’d do it, but I don’t want to endanger Lydia.” 

“Absolutely not,” Derek growls when Allison turns to him. She just rolls her eyes. 

“Ok, I will at least volunteer myself to be a love bird,” Allison says. “If anything attacks me, it won’t be much of a problem. I just need someone to ‘date.’”

Scott sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. Allison knows it would be awkward for them to pretend to date (understatement), but they’re both more than capable if whatever this is comes after them.

“Well…” Scott starts, but he’s cut off by Stiles slamming open the door. 

“Found it!” He’s holding up a print-out triumphantly. The three of them turn to look at him, and a perfect solution occurs to Allison. 

“Hey, Stiles,” she says. “Wanna go get coffee sometime?”

\---

Stiles and Lydia had figured out that they were dealing with a love-sick ghost who had taken to ripping out couples’ hearts in retribution for her own lost love, which everyone had responded to with a certain amount of disbelief. 

“I can’t believe ghosts are real,” Allison says, taking another sip of her coffee. 

“Really?” Stiles asks, looking incredulous. “That’s the weird part of this for you?”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Allison says. “Wait, is the vengeful spirit part _not_ the weird part for you?”

“Uh, no, that would be this,” Stiles says, gesturing between the two of them across the small cafe table. “Who pretends to be a couple outside of romantic comedies and spy movies?”

“Us, evidently,” Allison says. Stiles sits back with a huff. “And not very convincingly. We’re never going to draw this ghost out.”

Stiles leans back in, maybe a bit too fast, and clamps a hand over Allison’s where she’s got it resting on the table, before looking her straight in the eyes. 

“You are my sun and stars, Allison,” he says, totally deadpan. For a heartbeat nothing happens, and then they both dissolve into giggles, Stiles falling forward to rest his head against the table, his shoulders heaving. 

“Oh my god,” Allison says, gasping and wiping away tears.

“Stiles is fine,” Stiles replies, canting his head up a little bit to grin at Allison as he huffs out another laugh. Allison rolls her eyes and punches him in the shoulder, but she’s smiling. 

She reaches up to brush her hair away from where it’s fallen in her face, and freezes when he looks up. 

There’s a girl in the corner, the edges of her body undefined and curling, like smoke. Her hands and arms, up to her elbows, are covered in dull, red blood. Allison opens her mouth to say something and the girl vanishes. 

“Shit,” Allison says, scrambling upright, one hand slipping under her jacket to get her fingers on a knife. 

“What?” Stiles is up just as fast, looking around. 

“She was here, in the corner,” Allison says, scanning the place. The girl is gone though, no trace of her. 

“Just vanished?” Stiles asks, and at Allison’s nod he heads for the door. Allison goes after him, and they hurry out on to the sidewalk. Near the corner, a couple is waiting for the light to change to cross. Stiles points to them. “They just left the cafe.”

“She must be going after them,” Allison says. “Grab the Jeep, we’re tailing them.”

\---

The couple collects a car and then ends up driving to the preserve, which has Stiles groaning and banging his forehead into his steering wheel at a stop light.

“Why?” He moans, looking skyward. “We should put up signs, ‘don’t go into the preserve at night. You’ll end up _dead_ of supernatural creature’.” 

“Seriously,” Allison mutters. They watch from a safe distance as the couple get out of the car, laughing and holding hands. The guy has a blanket slung over one shoulder. 

“Oh no,” Stiles says. 

“Oh my god,” Allison says. “Are they seriously going to…?”

“Commune with nature? Looks like.” Stiles gets out of the Jeep, slinging his duffle bag across his chest. “Come on, we have to go stop some nookie for the greater good.”

“Our lives are _so weird_ ,” Allison says. “Like, weirder than usual right now.”

“We really shouldn’t be surprised anymore,” Stiles says, sighing. 

It’s not hard to track the couple -- they’re laughing and crashing through the dry leaves and underbrush. Stiles and Allison sneak along behind them in practiced quiet, Allison with a dagger in each hand and Stiles carrying a jar of mountain ash. 

They stoop behind a log to watch as the couple spreads out a blanket. Stiles rolls his eyes and huffs out a little sigh when the girl sits down, pulling her boyfriend down with her. He settles into her lap, and is a heartbeat from kissing her when the spirit flickers into existence behind them, glowing in a dull, eerie way. 

She smiles, a twisted mockery of happiness, and reaches for the guy, yanking him back and sending him flying into a tree. The girl is frozen for a moment before she looks up, straight at the ghost. Her scream is so high pitched it almost sounds like Lydia, although it doesn’t reverb like Lydia’s would have. 

Allison and Stiles are up in a second, rushing at them, and Allison barrels into the ghost, knocking her away from the girl. 

“Run!” Stiles yells at her, and she just nods mutely at Stiles before scrambling up to grab her boyfriend, where he’s groaning and sitting up at the base of the tree. 

Allison rolls off of the ghost, springing up as Stiles slides to a halt next to her, throwing a handful of mountain ash up into the air and guiding it down around them to keep the spirit from vanishing on them. The ghost comes at them with an unnatural shriek, her hair rising around her head, almost as if she’s been submerged in water. When Allison tries to parry her with the knife, it goes right through her. 

“What the -” Allison pushes back again, when the girl is almost right on top of her, and this time it makes contact, sizzling and hissing and making the girl spin away, clutching at her chest where Allison had caught her. 

“Probably only solid when she’s trying to touch someone,” Stiles says. Allison shoots him an _are you serious?_ look before rushing the ghost again. 

Right before Allison makes contact the spirit flickers again, and Allison knows to watch for it now -- her edges are slightly more solid, her color slightly brighter. Allison slams her knives down into the ghost’s shoulders, backing her up until she gets to the line of mountain ash. The ghost actually gasps -- something shocked and human -- and stops dead. Her edges fuzz and twist again, and she throws herself back to the center of the circle, right through Allison. 

The sensation is instantaneous, and Allison tips into a memory, sharp and cold like she’d been stabbed. The utter bone chill that the ghost had caused is just like the ice bath at Deaton’s the previous year. For a moment she can’t move, her teeth chattering and body frozen in place, and then Stiles grunts in pain from behind her. 

She forces herself to spin, and sees the ghost has Stiles with a hand around his neck, and the other pressed to his chest. The color is already draining from his face. 

Allison doesn’t think, she just goes, burying her daggers in the back of the ghost’s head. She makes that shrieking noise again, and drops Stiles to turn on Allison. 

Stiles falls to the ground, breathing hard, but alive. Allison focuses on the ghost, watching for her tell, her edges going hard, and pushes her back with her blades every time it happens, the knives causing a searing sound each time. They’re iron and doing their job. 

“Please tell me you know how to kill this thing?” Allison asks, ducking as the ghost swings at her. 

“Lydia hadn’t figured that out yet,” Stiles calls back. 

“Are you serious?! Oh my god, Stiles --” she grits her teeth and stabs again, getting another shriek and sizzle for her trouble. 

“I might be able to get rid of her though, although I’ll need to break the circle.”

“Do it!”

“I need a knife!”

Allison spins to him, keeping her body between Stiles and the girl, and pulls her jacket open. Stiles grabs the last knife she’s got strapped into the holster under her arm, and then scrambles away. Allison can see him out of the corner of her eye as he pulls something out of his bag -- another handful of mountain ash -- and then slices his palm open. 

In one smooth motion he throws his other hand back to break the circle and then rushes to the ghost. She solidifies to attack Allison again, and Stiles slams his palm into her chest. 

She vanishes, swept away with a gust of wind that kicks through the trees, sending leaves and mountain ash swirling around their legs. It’s almost totally silent, the only sound coming from the wind and their harsh breathing. 

“What’d you do?” Allison asks, turning to Stiles. 

“Iron and mountain ash. Figured it might get rid of her,” Stiles says. “Bad part is, I don’t know where she went.”

“Crap,” Allison says. 

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees as the wind picks up again. 

\---

The loft is dark and quiet when they get back. Aside from the light spilling across the floor from the den, it doesn’t seem like anyone’s around. 

They find Lydia on the couch, buried under books and Scott, who’s asleep with his head in her lap, limbs going every which way and jaw slack. Lydia holds up a finger to her lips, gesturing to Scott, and Stiles just rolls his eyes. 

“Scott can sleep through earthquakes, we’re not going to wake him up,” Stiles says, although he does keep his voice low. 

“Werewolf hearing,” Lydia hisses, and Stiles just shrugs. “And what happened to your hand?” 

“Temporarily banished the beastie,” Stiles says, holding up his hand and wiggling his fingers. He’d bandaged it with some vet wrap, but it’s still smudged with ash and blood. Lydia raises her eyebrows and gives a little nod of appreciation. 

“Bit dramatic, but it’ll work,” she says, and Stiles comes fairly close to rolling his eyes again. Allison can see when he catches himself, and she ducks to hide her smile. 

“I’m going to go wash this,” Stiles says, and slips off. 

Lydia holds up a book, which Allison takes, flipping to the page Lydia has marked. It’s a page about banishing spells. She skims it, getting the general gist -- they mostly seem to require a sigil and some cedar and sage. 

“We need to find a permanent way to get rid of the spirit,” Lydia says. “You didn’t notice anything off about her?”

“Besides the fact that she’s a ghost? No,” Allison says. 

“Then she should be easy to get rid of. She’s not haunting any particular building, so we don’t need to cleanse anything. We’ll just have to banish her. If we can find her again, we can trap her -- a mountain ash circle held, right? -- and get rid of her.”

“She’s kind of angry. She doesn’t stay still or play particularly nice.” 

“I’ll see if I can find a spell to bind her then, as well. God, what would you all do without me?”

“Hey, we managed for a whole year without you before we clued you in.”

“I seem to remember some archaic Latin you needed translated…”

Allison grins at her and hands the book back. 

\---

Considering he’d picked her up earlier, Stiles drives Allison home, singing along to the radio as he drives. It’s late enough that most of the stations are playing classic rock or dubstep, so Stiles ends up crooning (slightly off key) about the boys of summer. 

“You should really get an iPod hookup,” Allison says. 

“I’m pretty sure Roscoe’s a little bit too old for that,” Stiles says, patting the dash affectionately. “Besides, I’ve got a couple of CDs in the glove box.”

Allison pops it open, shuffling through the myriad of shit in there (a paperback, a tattered notebook, a knife, two jars of mountain ash, a bunch of loose paper, a lacrosse ball, and no owner’s manual) and finds the CD case jammed at the back. Most of them are unlabeled, but one’s got _M83_ scrawled on it in Stiles’ messy writing, so she pops that in. 

Predictably, ‘Midnight City’ is the first song on the album, and Allison tips her head back, closing her eyes, and drums out the beat on her thigh as they turn onto her street. 

Stiles sings along, quieter this time, and when Allison opens her eyes she sees that Stiles isn’t moving with the music, like before. His energy is contained as he sings, humming along to the instrumentals. 

He pulls up in front of her building, and when he turns to say something he catches her looking. They both freeze for a moment, and when Stiles licks his lips, her eyes are drawn to them. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, but she ignores it. 

“We should go out again tomorrow,” she says in a rush. “You know. For the ghost.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles agrees, his voice rough. “Sounds like a plan. Lunch?”

“We can do lunch,” Allison says, and then bites her lip, meeting Stiles’ eyes. “We should, uh. You know. Be convincing.”

“For the ghost.”

“For the ghost.”

They both move at the same time, reaching for each other. She hooks a hand around the back of Stiles’ head, pulling him closer, and it’s an awkward angle, but their lips meet. Stiles sucks in a breath, almost surprised, and then kisses back, fierce and warm. He presses a hand to the side of her face, curving over her jaw, and she tilts her head, breathing him in. 

Her phone buzzes again, and she pulls back, breathless. Stiles is watching her from half-lidded eyes, and she’s struck by how dark his eyelashes are against his pale, moonlight-bleached skin. 

“I--” she starts. 

“Allison!” Someone yells, and they both whip in the direction of the sound. Chris is standing in the door of the building, arms crossed. 

“Oh my god,” Allison mutters. “He is _always interrupting_ \--”

“I’m gonna die,” Stiles squeaks. “Your dad is going to kill me. Oh my god. He’s going to take a rocket launcher to me.”

“We don’t own a rocket launcher,” Allison says, and Stiles just gives her an exceptionally exasperated look. “He won’t kill you. You’re not a werewolf. That’s a step up in his eyes.”

Stiles laughs, shaking his head. 

“I should go,” she says, and Stiles nods. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Um, so, like 12:30?”

“Yeah, 12:30,” she says, and then darts in to kiss him quickly on the cheek before hopping out of the car and making a beeline for the door. She brushes past her dad, who’s looking rather scowly, and heads for the elevator. While she’s waiting she remember to check her phone, unlocking it with shaking fingers. There are a couple of texts from Lydia. 

**Lydia Martin (10:29:41)**  
 _found something interesting, evidently ghosts can sense and feed off of emotion. your couple act isn’t going to work, scott and i are going to have to draw it out._

**Lydia Martin (10:31:58)**  
 _unless you guys can find it within your cold little hearts to act, but i’m not sure either of you can act._

**Lydia Martin (10:33:04)**  
 _based on actual fact, btw. I have the utmost faith in you, but i saw you do that play for english last year._

Allison presses her fingers to her buzzing lips, and wonders if they’re going to need to act at all. 

\---

They sit just a bit too close together at lunch, on the same side of a diner both, and scribble out plans on a napkin between the two of them. Although there have only been a few monsters that had come through town that required sigil circles, and Stiles is still new to the whole druid thing, they have a few planned out. Lydia sends a few photos by text, and Stiles carefully copies down runes in the empty spaces of the six-pointed star sigil he’s working with. 

“If we leave the napkin here they’re going to think we’re Satanists or something,” Allison says, holding up her phone so that Stiles can copy down a Nordic binding rune in the center of the star. 

“We can spread rumors about how we’re thinking about starting a cult,” Stiles says, cracking a grin, and Allison laughs before stealing one of Stiles’ fries. 

“You know,” Allison says, stabbing at the ketchup with her stolen fry, “Lydia told me something yesterday.”

“Oh?” Stiles says, distracted. 

“Yeah, uh, evidently the ghost is feeding off of emotion. That’s how she’s picking couples.”

“It makes sense. I mean, supernatural shit in general is more about how things feel, right?”

“Uh, yeah. But it presents a problem for this.”

Stiles looks up at that, confused. 

“This?” He asks. 

“Us,” she clarifies. “It’s not going to take the bait, because it can tell we’re lying.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, rubbing a hand across his mouth. “That is a problem.”

“Lydia thinks that she and Scott should draw it out instead, but I don’t think Scott’s really excited about that.”

Stiles chews on a nail, staring straight ahead, his hand stalled halfway through writing something in Futhark around the outside of the sigil on the napkin. 

“That… uh, when you kissed me yesterday. That felt real enough to maybe trick a ghost,” Stiles says, although he won’t look at her. 

_It was real_ , Allison wants to say, because it didn’t just feel real. There was something behind it, open and honest. 

“We could practice,” Allison says, and slides her hand across the small amount of space between them, brushing her fingertips against the rough material of Stiles’ jeans. He startles, staring down at her hand, and then back up at her. His lips are parted, and she can hear him breathing. 

“Sure,” Stiles says, shrugging, and she can tell he’s going for nonchalance, although his shoulders are too tight. 

Allison kind of hates PDA, but it’s a slow, lazy summer afternoon and the diner is mostly empty. So she kisses Stiles, and takes what she started to take last night. 

They’re twisted together, and Allison slips a leg over one of Stiles’. He anchors a hand over her knee, his broad palms and long fingers rough, and lets her hold his head still and work his mouth open. He brings his other hand up to press against her side, and she’s reminded of just how big his hands are, and the thought of what they could do send a shiver down her spine. 

Allison pulls back to suck in a breath and Stiles leans in, pressing a rough kiss to the corner of her mouth, making her smile. She rests her forehead against his and breathes out. 

“I think we’re good,” she says.

“We’re super good,” Stiles says, and she can’t help the little laugh it gets out of her. 

They pull apart only enough to get back to work, Allison’s leg still thrown over his knee and one of Stiles’ arms around her shoulder. Lydia keeps them updated via texts when she and Scott find something, and eventually they’re all set up, Lydia armed with the necessary ingredients and wording for the spell, and Stiles with his sigil circle completed. 

\---

Lydia had figured out that, true to creepy campfire ghost stories, the spirit was only coming out at night. With a bit to go until sunset they all meet at the old Hale house, Derek looking highly suspect about this all. 

“I still can’t believe we have a ghost problem,” he says as he unlocks the front door for them. 

“It is _incredibly_ weird,” Allison agrees. 

“Werewolves, kanimas, druids, none of that is weird? But just normal ghosts are?” Lydia asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“When you put it that way, I’d say the kanima wins for weirdest,” Stiles says. 

“Seriously,” Scott says, nodding. 

The other few times they’ve summoned the monster of the week to Derek’s house they’d used the front room. The floor is cleared of junk and dead leaves, and there are still chalk sigils faintly visible on the floorboards. Derek works on sweeping away as much as he can while Stiles and Lydia pull things out of Stiles’ bag. 

“You think this’ll work?” Allison asks Scott as they watch them work, Stiles getting started on drawing the wide arc of the circle. 

“It should,” Scott says. “Lydia and Stiles have got this.”

“Yeah,” Allison says, smiling. “They do.”

“And if Lydia and I being here doesn't draw the ghost, Lydia has a summoning spell that should work.”

“Uh, we should be fine on that front,” Allison says, frowning down at her hands. When she turns to look at Scott he’s looking at her questioningly. “We’ve got double pull. I think I like Stiles.”

“Like, _like_ Stiles?”

“Yeah. Weirdly.”

“Does he know?”

“Well considering my tongue was in his mouth a couple of hours ago, yeah, I’d hope he knows.” 

Scott’s eyes are comically wide, and he’s left staring at Allison with his jaw unhinged. It takes him a moment to recover, but when he does, a small grin snakes across his face. 

“Well,” he says finally, “He is pretty cool.”

Allison just smiles, and Scott mirrors it, one of his blinding smiles usually brought on by his friends. 

“I think we’re good,” Stiles says, standing up and dusting off his hands. He’s standing in the center of a much bigger version of the six-pointed star from the diner napkin, right over a strange, double triangle shape that he’d explained was to bind the ghost. Allison’s glad for that. She’s not looking forward to playing bash brothers with the ghost again. 

“All wolves out of the circle?” Lydia asks, and after a check, nods at Stiles. 

He walks the edge, leaving a trail of mountain ash from the jar in his hand, and then tosses it to Lydia when it’s done. She’s holding a brass bowl with dried sage and cedar in one hand, and reaches for Scott with the other. He raises her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, and Stiles rolls his eyes. 

Allison grins and steps into the circle, standing next to Stiles and slipping a hand into his back pocket. He bumps her with his hip and smiles back down at her. 

He’s leaning down to kiss her when a cold wind comes through the gapped planks in the wall, and everyone freezes. Derek growls lowly, his eyes flashing, and Allison automatically reaches for a knife. 

Lydia hurries over the ash barrier at the exact moment that the ghost curls into being in the center of the circle. Lydia nearly runs into her, and she reaches for Lydia with her knife-cut smirk. 

Thin cords of silver curl up around the spirit, binding her in place, holding her hands back from Lydia. She shrieks, horrible and empty, and Lydia takes a step back, watching her as she struggles. 

Stiles steps away from Allison to join Lydia, lighting a match from his pocket as he goes and dropping it into the bowl. Lydia holds it close to her chest as the dry plants start to smoke, the flames making the leaves and needles curl up in on themselves. 

“Si adversum me spiritus…” Lydia starts. The girl struggles even harder, her eyes on fire, her hair and dress floating around her as Lydia speaks. 

Allison is paying so much attention to Lydia’s voice and the glow of the fire dancing on her skin that she doesn’t realize that Stiles is back next to her until their arms are touching. They watch together as Lydia finishes speaking and then blows the smoke from the bowl at the ghost. She gives one last wail, the sound dying in her throat, before she curls in on herself, her edges soft and undefined. She falls to the ground as fog, rolling away, dissipating into the air, until there’s nothing left but their circle on the floor and the five of them standing there, living and breathing. 

\--- 

Allison is pretty sure that they mean to drive back to Allison’s or Stiles’, but instead, when they get back into the Jeep, Stiles ends up driving towards the overlook in the preserve. Clearly, the ‘don’t go into the preserve after dark’ rule doesn’t apply to them. Then again, they’re significantly better armed, both in terms of knowledge and actual weapons, than the average citizen of Beacon Hills. 

With the doors and top off, Allison lets the wind tug at her hair as they drive, closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling of it on her skin. She’s always liked the Jeep. In terms of sheer coolness factor, it wins over pretty much everyone else’s cars in the pack (she waffles on the Camaro). 

“So,” Stiles says, slowing and shifting down so that he can be heard. “We just killed a ghost.”

“That was pretty cool,” Allison says, opening her eyes and looking over at Stiles with a grin. “And hey, one more for our bestiary.” 

“I swear, more of the crazy tales in your family’s one turn out to be true every day.”

“They had been around the block a few times.”

Stiles pulls off the road and onto the overlook, killing the ignition. They sit in silence for a few seconds, the pinging of the cooling car and crickets the only sound. 

“Um, this thing,” Stiles says. “Between us. Is it a thing?”

“It might be a thing,” Allison says. 

“Could be?”

“Could definitely be.” 

“Huh.”

“We should make-out in your back seat.”

Stiles turns to look at Allison, momentarily thrown, and then raises an eyebrow, grinning. 

“That is an excellent plan,” Stiles says, and then they’re laughing, pulling and pushing, falling into the back seat in a heap, Allison straddling Stiles. There’s next to no room, especially with Stiles’ gangly frame, but they manage to make it work. 

Allison grins against Stiles’ lips and he laughs, hands slipping under her shirt, roaming over her ribs and back, and she pushes against him, trying to put as little space between their bodies as possible. Stiles is like a livewire under her, heat under her palms and energy under her lips, and she loves it. 

Stiles kisses across her jaw, down her neck, and her world narrows down to the feeling of his hands and lips, and she huffs out a little noise of protest when he pulls back far enough to peel her out of her shirt. Stiles grins, nosing against her shoulder, and she nips at his ear, making him moan. 

“Got somewhere to be?” He pants. 

“Just here,” she says, grinding down against him, and he lets his head fall back, closing his eyes and breathing hard. 

“That’s cool. So totally cool,” he says, and pulls his own shirt off, flinging it in the general direction of the front seat. She grins and kisses him again, hands in his hair, breathing him in. 

“Yeah,” she says when she pulls back. She smiles down at him and he reaches out to push her hair behind her ear before cupping her jaw. She leans into his hand, looking at him through her lashes, loving the flush across his skin. 

“Yeah,” he echoes with a soft smile, almost shy, and when they close the distance between them again, they meet with parted lips.


End file.
